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Remarks Made During Funeral Of Florian Fyodorov
Remarks Made During Funeral Of Florian Fyodorov 2582-11-15 Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to remember Florian. He was a father, a brother, and an upstanding citizen of the Aft deck. Florian died doing what he loved most in life: serving this ship. His job on the External Hull Maintenance team was his greatest source of pride, after his children. Whenever one of the more dangerous problems arose, the kind that required someone suit up and head outside, he was always the first to volunteer. His favorite phrase was: "I'll take that walk." When the aft engine flanges on number four failed last year, he raised his hand and said "I'll take that walk." When an entire bank of solar receivers went dark last week, he said "I'll take that walk," and headed for his suit. He would never let a younger man volunteer before he did, even the ones without children. "Go make some while I'm gone," he would say. "You need some grizzle in your beard to go outside, boys, and I've got more than you. Besides, I could use a little starshine." He would often tell us that he wanted the glory for himself. He was a bad liar. He knew the risks. He was outside on the skin, there was a drive emission spike, and he was taken from us. Stripped off the hull and sent out into the rushing blackness beyond the Limnal envelope. I can't imagine the terror of that. And yet I know—I know— that if you were to see him, in that moment, he would have been smiling. "Just gonna walk a little further this time, boys." he would have said. "Go on ahead without me." Every citizen on this ship owes a debt to Florian, and to all of the men and women brave enough to put on that suit, and take that walk. For three generations now, we've honored our dead by ejecting them into the drive plume. Their bodies combine with that enormous thrust, and push us that much closer to our home. This is the Rodina way. The colonist way. Our lives, even our deaths, are so that our children may one day reach the end. Earth might call our ways crude. Barbaric, even. My grandfather tells stories of people being jammed down into the floor after they die, with dirt pushed in their faces. I think Florian would laugh. "I wouldn't be caught dead like that," he'd say. In Florian's case, we have no body to give to the engines. As is custom, we've placed one kilogram of diaconium on his funeral pyre. One kilogram of fuel, to represent the fire that once burned inside him. As I consign this fuel into Rodina's great engines, please join hands and recite with me while Florian takes one more walk: Rodina, our island and our refuge Our chariot of fire Our bodies for your body Our souls for your soul Carry us away from stagnation Carry us through the darkened fields Carry us home AmenCategory:Datastick Messages